Mercy
by In Pieces
Summary: AU. They were going to give them hell for messing with one of their own.


Nero could feel their presence towering behind him. They walked in silence trough a large brick corridor; the only lights that illuminated the musty path came from candle sconces with pale, yellowing candles that flickered as they passed them, and the faint, blue tint of his Devil Bringer glowing through his sleeve.

Nero remained calm and collected; his eyes were scanning the path in front of him with morbid interest, erasing the figures that walked behind him. Being among them proved to be a difficult task, and that was confirmed by the katana that one of them keenly held like a sacred instrument.

Nero couldn't deny that it made him feel uneasy that one of them was holding on to Yamato, but there were lengths he was willing to cross to reach his final goal. He had gotten too far to turn back now and lose everything he carefully built.

They didn't break the heavy silence, not even when they entered the main chamber. Nero took a deep breath and looked around, taking the dark atmosphere that plagued the room. The coldness was enough to penetrate his bones, and the nauseating smell of dampness was only overpowered by the smell of burning wax. He quickly glanced at the unopened doors on the other side, but diverted gently his attention to the blood covered walls and floor that made his blood chill.

He didn't expect them to be better than that; but he was desperately hoping that this situation would be slightly different.

The cloaked figures waited patiently for him, wanting to hear him to voice either his approval or disgust, but he gave them neither.

Walking to the tall figure that held Yamato, he took the blade out of his hands. His movements seemed nonchalant and vague, yet his gaze held a certain power that made the figure take a step back once the blade passed to Nero's hand.

"Bring him to me." Nero's voice sounded foreign to his ears, sounding too much like his'. His tone was of command, his movements able, and his gaze ready. He felt like someone else was walking under his skin.

One of the figures, the farthest to the right, nodded before walking out of the room and disappearing trough the closed door. In a matter of minutes, the weak sound of boots walking on concrete started to echo through the halls before the doors opened.

The fear Nero felt could barely be explained. It started as a cold feeling in his chest that spread all over his body; then, the sensation turned into an oppression that crushed his heart and destabilized his breathing pattern . He could barely feel the air traveling from his nose to his lungs in short bursts, and he would've believed he had stopped breathing if it wasn't for the peculiar smell that invaded his nostrils.

His mind could only process the sight of blood and the bitter smell that it gave off. Perhaps the situation increased his olfactory sense, but the raw, metallic smell was so powerful that it managed to embed itself into his brain.

For a moment, everything else seemed foreign to him. The bright colors of candles and the cold tones of the walls seemed to disappear to engulf him into a dark place where he could only see him.

The sight was…disturbing. He had never seen him like that. Even if he felt that his mind and body had become numb, Nero could notice a pang of distress rising higher from his stomach to his throat.

Vergil was walking slowly. His gaze was blank, hollow. His pace lacked his elegant stride and calculated movements; his eyes the vibrant spark of sternness that usually decked his face; and the slight clench of his jaw was replaced by an unnatural movement of fatigue.

Nero witnessed his father collapse slowly. Vergil had looked at him, and his gaze seemed to pierce every single fiber of his being. He only focused on him for a second before looking forward again; his body grew visibly heavy, pushing him down on his knees in a harsh matter before placing his hands on the ground in front of him in a feeble attempt to regain balance.

Vergil's signature coat was ragged, making the elegant article of clothing look like a shredded mess of silk clinging to his body. From the torn fabric, Nero could see the deep wounds that showed the pulsing, crimson skin. Close to Vergil's hand, Nero saw a ghostly white speckle that, upon inspection, turned out to be a bone of one of his fingers piercing his flesh. The corners of Vergil's mouth were stained with blood, and his striking white hair was now painted with the crimson color of his blood pouring from the top of his head.

Nero didn't step forward. He remained in his spot, staring at the man that was gathering enough strength to get back up to his feet. A pair of arms hoisted him up and Vergil didn't complain. He looked lost, like all the trace of lucidity had escaped his body.

Nero walked forward, his back straight and his step slow. He stopped when he had positioned himself in front of Vergil and then, with a glance, ushered away the men that were hoisting him up. Vergil fell to his knees with a small thud. Now that he was close enough, Nero could see the almost invisible chain making a pattern down Vergil´s neck. He could understand the inscriptions on it, but he was positive that, whatever power those words had, they were strong enough to turn Vergil into a wounded and frail animal.

Vergil looked up; he didn´t ask for help or question what he was doing. Nero held his stare for a minute, and felt his eyes twitch with disgust. He felt an indescribable wave of pain when Vergil's gaze turned into a stone cold glare. Of course he couldn't understand that Nero's portrayal of emotions wasn't directed to him, but to himself. Perhaps Vergil would never forgive him for that.

Nero kneeled down until he was face to face with Vergil. "It took a damn while to find you, you know that?" He didn't wait for a reply before he stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his knees. He allowed a smirk to settle on his face. "We're getting out of here, one way or another."

Nero turned around and faced the men; on his lips the trace of the smirk was still visible. The hoods were gone and, in return, he was greeted by the hollow black faces of demons. The human skin they have used as a cover was slowly melting off into the ground, creating a pool of fleshy liquid that stained the bottom of their white robes.

The creatures roared and launched their bodies forward with their claws extended, ready to protect their precious load. Nero unsheathed Yamato, and the blue spectrum of his Devil Trigger created a halo of blue light that surrounded him. Nero felt the power traveling down his veins when Yamato became a ghostly image and he unsheathed Red Queen.

The light emanating from his Devil Trigger was enough to cast a significant light that revealed the red-clad figure leaning against one of the dark pillars behind the demons.

With a smirk, Nero took a step forward.

They were going to give them hell for messing with one of their own.

* * *

First of all, I want to apologize if the characters are OOC.  
The idea had been nagging at me ever since a classmate ended a story just before hell broke loose in a war. It was quite a different ending that left a remarkable concept in our minds.  
I was dancing around the idea of portraying Vergil in a weakened state; but once I pictured this, the idea stuck to me like glue. Sometimes even the strongest need a little help, right?  
Thank you for reading!  
Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and its characters belong to Capcom.


End file.
